


Order

by ExtraPenguin



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Beshelar is more than a bit screwed up, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 14:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7895536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExtraPenguin/pseuds/ExtraPenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>What has this man done to you?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Order

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Path](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Path/gifts).



As always, Cala returns soon enough. You wait for a witticism on how you have obeyed the orders of someone so weak who is not even your superior in rank, but it doesn't come. He instead walks over, whispers _“Well done!”_ in your ear, and then retreats to his boxes of miscellania.

You have perhaps been released from your order.

You have been ordered to stay still.

You stay still. Out of not having a more productive use for yourself, you reassure yourself. You know it to be a lie.

Cala finds what he is looking for and walks back to you. His all-seeing eyes gaze right into you. You would not be surprised to find that he were one of the mythical seers. You cannot look away.

“Stay still,” he whispers. He runs a finger along the shell of your ear. You do not shiver. You wish not to shiver. It is hard.

Cala nibbles the point of your ear. You do not stay still.

“Ah, so you _are_ but mortal, after all,” he murmurs into your cheek, breath ghosting on your skin, ruffling stray hairs and sending tingles down your spine.

“Yes,” you agree. What has this man done to you?

Cala takes the point of your ear in his mouth again, and sucks. You cannot help yourself: you move. You growl and grab fistfuls of his robe, then push him against the nearest wall. You press against him. His eyeglasses dig into you awkwardly.

“We did not know you had any initiative in you,” he says, still mentally unruffled. Physically, it is hard to tell. He seems to exist in a state of maximal entropy by default.

“This is a dreadful idea,” you growl. “Please, stop us.”

Cala airily waves the hand that is not currently being pinned between you. “Why should we not enjoy ourselves? Oh, and please drop thy words, Lieutenant. We are in private.”

You dimly recall your barracks sergeants and the more risqué of the blue-blacked novels smuggled in by the soldier in the bunk below yours. “I will, an you so desire.” You are pinning him to the wall, and this tableau of language is completely backwards. You step back.

“Is that what thou desirest?” Cala asks. His expression is knowing. His expression is always knowing. His expression is more knowing than usual. You take a step back.

“We mean thee no harm,” Cala says. He takes a step towards you, a mockery of the dances danced at the Winternight Ball. “Provided that thou dost exactly as we ask.” You shiver. You agree. You cannot disagree. What has this man done to you?

“Remove thy clothes,” he orders, voice firm. You remove your clothes. You must always obey. To not obey would invite- something. Something dreadful. _Disarray_.

You remove your clothes and fold them into a neat pile. Cala gazes at you approvingly. Does he envy your order? Does he resent his own chaos?

Cala slowly walks around you. You are still and do not move a muscle as he drinks in your obvious strength. You are still and do not move a muscle as he gently pulls loose the ribbon that holds your hair in its place.

Your drill instructor imprinted into the minds of you and all your co-cadets that a man is not truly naked as long as his hair is done. Your hair has been undone. Cala has stripped you of all pretenses of civilization with ease. This is a dreadful course of action, but you have chosen it.

Cala runs his hands over you, clearly appreciating every muscle you have built up over the years. It occurs to you that his long fingers may give pleasurable massages. Now, they curl just so that they scrape at your skin. The pain is almost pleasurable. The man has broken you irredeemably. You bite back a frustrated whimper.

He is now behind you and envelopes you in his arms. He breathes onto the crown of your head. You find the sensation erotic. You do not lean back.

He releases you. “On the desk.” His voice is captivating. His eyes are hypnotizing. You are sitting on the edge of the desk. You did not intend to end up here.

You cannot disobey.

From one of his pockets, he pulls out a vial of oil. You know exactly what he is going to do.

He does something completely different. He is leaning between your legs, licking your … member. He nuzzles it. You do your best to remain silent, though it is hard. Pleasure tickles along your skin. Your arousal manifests itself as a slight tightness to your throat. You can feel yourself flush.

Cala takes you into his mouth. You do not topple over the edge, though you do emit a high-pitched noise more fitting to one plummeting off a cliff. You suppress it by clamping a hand over your mouth. Cala snorts.

“Thou art sensitive as always, we see,” he says, momentarily lifting his mouth. You cannot answer; he has returned to his task, and you could only pant and moan. Your mind has turned itself off. What has this man done to you?

Soon, you squeal at the sensation of an oiled finger pressing at your … entrance. Cala smirks. He has managed to oil a finger and press it in without interrupting his mouth. You attempt to stay silent as he thrusts it in and out. He curls his finger up and you keen loudly. He repeats his action and it is all you can do to forestall your crisis. He adds another finger and you must bite on your fist. It is hard to muffle your cries. You pant, you whimper, you keen, you moan, depending on what exactly Cala is doing to you. The pain of your teeth on your knuckles is only barely enough of a distraction from the pleasure.

Cala lifts his mouth with an audible pop and extracts his fingers. You look down and can see a string of saliva still connecting his lips to you. You find it inexplicably arousing. What has this man done to you?

“Enjoying thyself?” he asks. His grin is smug. His grin is lewd. “We wonder how much we could make thee scream merely by using thee as we wish to, with no consideration to thy comfort.”

Gods. You should not be aroused by the thought of being mistreated, but here you are, ready to fall apart at the merest suggestion from this man. You let your head fall back. Your ears are in disarray. You require order. You require orders.

“Do not climax until we give thee permission.” Cala provides for you.

He oils his member and starts pushing into you. He grasps your hips. Your traitorous legs are on his shoulder and in the crook of his elbow. You are keening. You think it is you who are keening. You are lost to sensation. Your eyes are shut. You are panting.

Slowly, Cala presses all the way in. The stretch does not burn as much as it did the first time. You are beginning to enjoy more than the humiliation. Your hands release their death grip on the desk's edge.

Cala pulls out and pushes back in, slowly at first, picking up pace. Your ears bob in time to his thrusts. He seems to push out an exhale every time he pushes in. Your eyebrows are scrunched together with pleasure. How could being _used_ feel so good?

You reach a bit further with your legs to bring him in closer. He is standing, able to put his full strength into each and every thrust, and you are propped up, open and vulnerable. You bite your cheek to delay your impending climax. You whimper. You do your best to contain yourself, but every muscle, every sinew in your body is yearning for release. You use what meager leverage you have to meet his thrusts, spine arched, wishing that Cala would give you leave to lose yourself, permission to let go of the last thread keeping you in this reality. It is hard, not disobeying. You are glad you have trained obedience for years.

Cala leans forwards. Your leg on his shoulder is stretched uncomfortably. “Dost desire to go over the edge with us within thee?” he pants into your ear.

“ _Yes_ ,” you whimper. You grasp him with your legs and pull him closer, oh, you feel him, thick within you, yes, yes, yes – “Do,” he commands, and thou'rt overcome with thy climax, thou drop'st over the edge into the eternal void that awaits thee, thou shout'st and pant'st, 'tis so, so _good…_

You are aware of Cala spilling within you. After a moment of stillness, Cala pulls out. He waves a hand and mutters something, and both of you are clean. He offers a hand to you. You take it and use it to pull yourself up, only for your traitor legs to turn to rubber beneath you. You manage to prop yourself up on the desk, but you have still humiliated yourself.

“Didst like it?” Cala asks you.

To lie would be counterproductive. “Very much,” you respond.

“I am glad I could satisfy thee,” he says. He strokes your cheek affectionately. You lean into the touch. You let out a deep breath and relax. He continues soothingly touching you. You let yourself forget your worries and lean on him.

What _has_ this man done to you?

At the moment, you cannot quite bring yourself to care.

**Author's Note:**

> Join us on the IRC channel: http://www.slashnet.org/webclient/thegoblinemperor


End file.
